* ╰ with wes .
The stumbling man rightens himself up — still very drunk — looks at Gus, and swears some kind of expletive at him, shaking off any illusion of needing help.
Witnessing this scene with something of an amusing quality to it, Wes waves at him from inside. It’s a little bit awkward, the acknowledgment of his coworker, but not doing much else about it, so he finishes his pint of beer, sets it down, and steps out outside. It was time for a breath of fresh air, anyway. “Hey,” he greets, simultaneously pulling a pack from his back pocket, slipping out a cigarette and lighting it. “You good, man? What’s up.” Never one for ten words when two would do, Wes fell silent in the interval to take his first drag.
〤 〤 〤
Silences frequently coated the room when the two of them worked together, seeming to favour the sound of machinery, and the metallic clank of tools than the sounds of their own voices. It was perhaps the only reason Augustine stopped in the first place, the need not to talk was a trait he’d come to enjoy in others. Resignation heavy in his shoulders, he follows his drunken coworker out of the bar- thoughts wandering to what liquor he has at home. Praying there was something left in the bottles.
“Was going to wind down, not that it’s needed, really.” Resting his back against the wall, Gus only lets his eyes wander to Wes in quick glances. Instead favouring looking out to the nothing that rest under the street lamp across the road, “If you need a ride home, some say it’s safe others don’t. Regardless, you don’t look a state to drive.”
